8:00 p.m.
No Cheez-Whiz? What kind of party is
this? Quail eggs. Mango chutney. Goat cheese. Caviar. I spent two hours in the car and forty minutes squeezing
myself into this dress. Are a few little smokies and some crescent rolls really
too much to ask for?
Beyond serving utensils, I pick food from
various trays with my fingers, and pop asparagus tips into my mouth like a
handful of M&M's.
My ankles wobble dangerously atop
four-inch stilettos. I swear, my feet are as swollen as a rodeo bull’s balls.
Paige has a devious mind. I’m starting to think kidnapping via high heels was
all part of my baby sister’s plan to keep me prisoner at her party. But hunger
is a powerful motivator so here I am, risking life and limb for mini crab
cakes.
Thank the Lord I’m alone out here. No one’s
around to stand witness to my shameless binging. This is what you get when you
invite a country girl to a big city shindig. Public displays of redneckedness.
Taking a handful of cubed cheese for the
road, I head back to the safety of the garden wall. It’s the only way I can
stand upright in these shoes for any length of time. An errant rock in my path buckles
my ankle and I topple over like a Jenga tower.
“Oh!” I slide between leafy branches and
land hip first on the hard ground. Fancy cheese sprinkles around me and as I
roll over onto my back, a piece of it forms around my elbow. My head thumps
against the soft dirt and I count my lucky stars it’s so hot out tonight. Ten
degrees cooler and there may’ve been a whole mess of people here to witness my
complete lack of womanly grace.
“Are you alright?” A deep, concerned
voice speaks at me from the other side of the hedge.
Crap. “Uh, yeah?”
“C’mon, let’s get you out of there.”
A caramel-colored hand, big and strong
looking, reaches through the foliage and pulls me up. His size is the first
thing I notice. I’m five-six without the heels and this man towers over me.
He’s six-three at least.
“Thank you, I can’t believe I did that.” I
raise my eyes to his face. “I’m not used to… to…”
Sweet Jesus, did I break my neck when I
fell over? His eyes are dark, nearly black in color, and his skin looks like
smooth light toffee. My throat’s constricted on its own accord, preventing any
form of hospitable communication. He’s gorgeous, like a Spanish angel sent from
Heaven to guide me to the Promised Land.
“Anything broken?” One of those big hands
wipes the leaves and dirt from my side and I grab it out of reflex. I have
seven male cousins whose preferred method of torture is the side tickle. I’m
not taking any chances.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He’s
perplexed, by my muteness or because I’m holding his hand against my waist, I
can’t say.
“I’m, uh, I’m just fine, thank you,” I
say, smiling. “Fit as a fiddle.” I release his hand at my hip and it falls
away, skimming my side and leaving a tingle in its wake.
Oh no, no, no, no… Two deep dimples act
like bookends around an amused, white smile. Dimples are my undoing, my cowboy
kryptonite. They’ve gotten me out of two pair of panties and a college
education.
“Glad to hear it. I just came out to get
some fresh air and saw you go down. It looked like you were stuck in there,” he
teases.
“Stuck? Oh, no I wasn’t stuck. I was just
praying for a speedy death before anyone saw me tail end to the sky.”
“Then I guess I should apologize for
ruining your plans.”
“Not at all. I’ve got big plans to fall
into the birthday cake later on, so I’m all set.”
There’re those dimples again, like a pair
of secrets, waiting for me to find them out. “I’m Charlie. Charlotte, really,
but everybody calls me Charlie.”
His eyes move over my face and linger a
split second on my lips. “Alex Ramirez.” He offers me his hand. “Pleasure to
meet you.”
The connection between us is instantaneous,
like somebody turned on a light and blew up a
No Cheez-Whiz? What kind of party is
this? Quail eggs. Mango chutney. Goat cheese. Caviar. I spent two hours in the car and forty minutes squeezing
myself into this dress. Are a few little smokies and some crescent rolls really
too much to ask for?
Beyond serving utensils, I pick food from
various trays with my fingers, and pop asparagus tips into my mouth like a
handful of M&M's.
My ankles wobble dangerously atop
four-inch stilettos. I swear, my feet are as swollen as a rodeo bull’s balls.
Paige has a devious mind. I’m starting to think kidnapping via high heels was
all part of my baby sister’s plan to keep me prisoner at her party. But hunger
is a powerful motivator so here I am, risking life and limb for mini crab
cakes.
Thank the Lord I’m alone out here. No one’s
around to stand witness to my shameless binging. This is what you get when you
invite a country girl to a big city shindig. Public displays of redneckedness.
Taking a handful of cubed cheese for the
road, I head back to the safety of the garden wall. It’s the only way I can
stand upright in these shoes for any length of time. An errant rock in my path buckles
my ankle and I topple over like a Jenga tower.
“Oh!” I slide between leafy branches and
land hip first on the hard ground. Fancy cheese sprinkles around me and as I
roll over onto my back, a piece of it forms around my elbow. My head thumps
against the soft dirt and I count my lucky stars it’s so hot out tonight. Ten
degrees cooler and there may’ve been a whole mess of people here to witness my
complete lack of womanly grace.
“Are you alright?” A deep, concerned
voice speaks at me from the other side of the hedge.
Crap. “Uh, yeah?”
“C’mon, let’s get you out of there.”
A caramel-colored hand, big and strong
looking, reaches through the foliage and pulls me up. His size is the first
thing I notice. I’m five-six without the heels and this man towers over me.
He’s six-three at least.
“Thank you, I can’t believe I did that.” I
raise my eyes to his face. “I’m not used to… to…”
Sweet Jesus, did I break my neck when I
fell over? His eyes are dark, nearly black in color, and his skin looks like
smooth light toffee. My throat’s constricted on its own accord, preventing any
form of hospitable communication. He’s gorgeous, like a Spanish angel sent from
Heaven to guide me to the Promised Land.
“Anything broken?” One of those big hands
wipes the leaves and dirt from my side and I grab it out of reflex. I have
seven male cousins whose preferred method of torture is the side tickle. I’m
not taking any chances.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He’s
perplexed, by my muteness or because I’m holding his hand against my waist, I
can’t say.
“I’m, uh, I’m just fine, thank you,” I
say, smiling. “Fit as a fiddle.” I release his hand at my hip and it falls
away, skimming my side and leaving a tingle in its wake.
Oh no, no, no, no… Two deep dimples act
like bookends around an amused, white smile. Dimples are my undoing, my cowboy
kryptonite. They’ve gotten me out of two pair of panties and a college
education.
“Glad to hear it. I just came out to get
some fresh air and saw you go down. It looked like you were stuck in there,” he
teases.
“Stuck? Oh, no I wasn’t stuck. I was just
praying for a speedy death before anyone saw me tail end to the sky.”
“Then I guess I should apologize for
ruining your plans.”
“Not at all. I’ve got big plans to fall
into the birthday cake later on, so I’m all set.”
There’re those dimples again, like a pair
of secrets, waiting for me to find them out. “I’m Charlie. Charlotte, really,
but everybody calls me Charlie.”
His eyes move over my face and linger a
split second on my lips. “Alex Ramirez.” He offers me his hand. “Pleasure to
meet you.”
The connection between us is instantaneous,
like somebody turned on a light and blew up a
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